Fallout 3: The New York Wasteland
by BlackwingKnight
Summary: This is my rendition of the New York City wasteland. This story runs on the parallel time frame of Fallout 3. It has an entirely new cast of characters, but I am sure my fellow Fallout 3 fans will immediately identify with it. Feedback/criticism welcome.
1. Chapter 1

**Fallout 3: The New York Wastleland**

**Allentown, Pennsylvania**

**February 18, 2277**

The clouds seemed to completely swallow up the moon, only a dull light appearing where it should have been. Darkness had crept along the ruins of the once sprawling city, but the wasteland never slept. The buzzing of the bloatflies, the rattling of a radscorpion, the howl of a wild dog, the distant growling of a Deathclaw, and even the close sounds of fists hitting flesh and the agonizing screams accompanying them were all a testimony to the fact that the wasteland itself was a living organism...like a ghoul; disfigured and irradiated....but alive. Even though he was very aware of these sounds, the darkness spoke another language to Tristan Hale; it never failed to reach out and embrace him as kin and reveal its innermost secrets to him.

Hale stood precariously close on the edge of the topmost beam of the ruined building, his arms folded. He had taken off his leather gloves to better feel the night air on his skin and held them in his right hand. He stood with his eyes closed, and as the gentle breeze touched his face, he turned his face upward as if to kiss the air itself. As always, he felt a twinge of irritation as he became aware that the dark combat armor he was wearing was preventing him from experiencing the full caress of the night breeze. With his eyes still closed, he started gently swaying back and forth on his feet and slowly opened up his arms.

"Hale!" the shout came from far below. He stopped swaying and stood perfectly still.

"Hale!" the shout came again, "The ghoul is saying something we think you should hear."

The clouds had broken and the moonlight seemed like a cruel intrusion into his silent ritual. Hale opened his eyes, and even in the moonlight one could see that they were a striking blue. His pale skin stood out in contrast to his short-cropped black hair and dark combat armor. The emblem of the Talon Company shone bright against the dark breastplate. He slowly lowered his head and looked at the 3 figures down on the ground 3 storeys below.

He reached back with his hand to see if his assault rifle was firmly in its place and took a deep breath.

Hale jumped. He landed on a jutting concrete beam 10 feet down, and easily hopped to another beam 5 feet away just about a foot wide. He walked to the end of the beam and jumped down another 10 feet to a part of an intact tiled floor on the 1st storey and started walking on a metal bar just wide enough to accommodate the width of his boot. He came to a broken window on the side and jumped on to the sill and jumped the final 14 feet easily to the ground below.

One of the figures down below whispered to another "Man, how the fuck does he do that?"

It was loud enough for Hale to hear. He smiled inwardly and started walking towards them. Hale had an uncharacteristically soft voice when compared to the rest of his appearance; some would have described it as almost feminine though none who knew Hale ever had described it as such.

Another group of about 20 men were talking about 40 feet away and they ceased their chatter as they watched Hale walk up to their 3 comrades.

"Status, Joe" Hale said simply to the tallest of the three. All of them wore the same dark combat armor as Hale. Joe was a man in his late 20s with tousled red hair and a ruddy complexion.

"We've stocked up on about a ton of food, brahmin meat mostly. No purified water. Very few stimpaks. A couple of weapons, a 10 mm and a 32 and some of the corresponding ammo. No laser weapons, but strangely they were well stocked on microfusion cells, about 400." Joe paused. "They were about 46, we killed about 18, mostly men. There were only 3 ghouls. Two are dead and the one who is alive is the one I am telling you about."

One of the men standing beside Joe cleared his throat slightly. Joe looked at him, then turned back to Hale. "There are 3 female humans who are uninjured. Some of the men would like to...." he trailed off.

Hale gave a slight nod, to which the other men's faces lit up a bit. Hale had almost never denied his men the spoils of raids. Nonetheless, they had never failed to ask him first.

"What is the ghoul saying, Joe?" Hale asked. Joe nervously fidgeted at his necklace of Super Mutant ears as he spoke "A settlement about 5 days' walk from here, to the East, named Brentwood Plaza, about 200 people, give or take a few."

"That would be the NYC wasteland" Hale said as he frowned and looked at Joe who was still fidgeting with his organic necklace. One of the old ears detached from the necklace and fell to the floor. Hale waited as Joe bent down to pick up his trophy.

"And?" Hale asked in a slightly irritated tone.

Joe started speaking quickly "By what he's saying, they're well organized and well stocked with supplies; they're also well defended, a variety of mines along the perimeter, frags, pulse, plasma, the whole works."

Hale regarded Joe with his steel blue eyes without a word. The taller man had just given a description that fit almost any organized settlement in the wasteland.

Joe stopped fingering his necklace and blurted out.

"They have a vertibird."

**New York City, New York**

**February 19, 2277**

"I swear m'man, I swear I heard it, look, it was right here" the young black man pointed out to a structure as he scooted ahead of his partner. His toe hit something jutting out of the ground, a piece of a car bumper or maybe it was a twisted part of a telephone pole; he wasn't sure. He had a pair of dusty sneakers on; they had probably been blue and white once upon a time, but now they were totally brown, a layer of mud and ash caked on them. He stumbled but caught himself. His partner, a tall black man in his late 20s called out to him in a deep weary voice "Watch yo ass, nigger! Lotsa broken glass and shit lyin' around here."

He looked around and took in the bleak surroundings. His shrewd eyes scanning for anything useful or unusual…like a radscorpion. He had taught himself to scavenge and forage a long time ago. He wore dark blue jeans, roughly cut off at the knees, and a purple T-shirt that said "CAT" on the front in bold yellow letters. He had a worn black baseball cap on his head. It had been a gift from his cousin a long time ago, and he had a deep attachment to it. He took of his cap and ran his hand over his bald head. He started scratching at his goatee beard as he slowly started walking up to the younger man, his eyes slowly and carefully taking in every aspect of the area.

They were at the foot of a building that might have once been a skyscraper, but now it was only 8-9 stories high, and it was bent slightly towards them. The sun was still high in the sky, just past noon, but the building, like the mutilated torso of a titan, threw a great shadow where they stood. He looked into the dark crevice the younger man was looking into.

The elder man spoke out, "Tell me again, Ozzy, what did it sound like?"

The younger man turned from the dark cave-like crevice on the side of the building, "Well, it was kinda like people talkin, y'know, like far away, but then I heard something like a freakin' big bang, like metal on metal, and then it was like squealing tires."

The older man just stood there, looking at Ozzy, "freakin' big bang" he muttered under his breath. Ozzy caught the look on his elder companion's face "Ah, Jules, mah man, I swear, I ain't on them chems no more, I swear, man!"

Jules looked at Ozzy for a full ten seconds before he spoke, "Level with me, nigger, you found a new stash of Jet somewhere?" Ozzy had a pained expression on his face. He was sixteen and he hated it. He also hated the fact that people seldom took him seriously.

"Man, I'm over that shit, I'm tight now" he blurted out quickly and angrily. He turned back towards the entrance, and started fidgeting at an iron rod jutting out of the side, like a huge toothpick in the jaws of a dragon.

Jules took another of his characteristic pauses. He looked at the cave-like entrance Ozzy was standing at, then glanced upwards; the structure was leaning towards them and even at this hour of the day the interior in the crevice was dark and there seemed to be nothing but the usual concrete rubble inside. Ozzy might be a crackhead, but even he would never make a big fuss about nothing, but Ozzy would be the last person he would want with him when he was off exploring uncharted territory. He would have to come back with a couple of the other guys.

He turned around and started walking towards Brentwood Plaza, he looked over his shoulder and called to Ozzy "Let's go, nigger." Ozzy's shoulders fell as he said sadly, "Man, you still think I'm on that shit, dontcha?" but he started following the older man.

**Brentwood Plaza, NYC**

**2****nd**** floor, Administrative Office**

**February 19, 2277**

The atrium was dimly lit with sporadic barrel fires across the atrium. The last dying rays of the sun seemed blood red as they ebbed with the approaching night. Jeffrey Corbin stood at the window of his 2nd floor office overlooking the internal atrium of the plaza. His old and weary eyes squinting as he tried to make out the people in the various groups sitting around in the atrium. Patricia Bailey and her class of 14 children, ages varying from 6 to 10. He watched as her hands moved animatedly, her expressions changing from time to time but mostly a bright smile kept litting up her face as she narrated one of the Grimm fairy tales the children had come to love. Every once in a while, she would make a sudden movement with her arms and body, a menacing expression on her face, and there would be a collective jerking motion as her young audience recoiled in horror, but at other times there would be laughing, clapping, and jumping up and down He couldn't hear what she was saying, but he could guess it was Sleeping Beauty again today. _You're the happiest of us all _he thought, _mostly because you're doing something you love to do._

His eyes moved over the different groups and rested on the farthest one with Mark Blackwell. Corbin remembered the first time he had met Mark. Corbin remembered how the 10-year-old had screamed when he saw Corbin approach. Corbin had had to light up the dark basement quickly so that the youngster could see that he was a human and not a monster. The boy's mouth was stretched into a rictus of terror, a grimace Corbin would never forget. Nevertheless, the child, scared and starving for almost 5 days, had fainted, and Corbin had had to carry him out of the house, stepping over the dismembered and partially devoured bodies of Mark's father, mother, and two sisters. He remembered thinking that there could be no greater horror for a 10-year-old boy than watching his family ripped apart by Deathclaws.

Mark was sitting with five other people near the right-sided entrance of the plaza. Corbin could make out Jules Smith, Carl Trenton, George Kowalski, and Jake Moon. He strained his eyes to determine the fifth figure wearing a hoody and was surprised to see that it was Ozzy. Ozzy usually steered clear from Mark and his gang. From the looks of it, George was the only one talking as the rest looked on. They would occasionally all look at Ozzy and one of them would snicker and shake his head.

He made a mental note to talk to Kowalski later. He had been picking on Ozzy a lot more these days. Corbin turned away from the window and rubbed his eyes. He walked up to a cabinet and opened it. The contents of the cabinet had always stirred painful memories in him, but regardless he had kept coming back to the cabinet every day.

_Jeff, please help us…they're everywhere…I lost Arthur…please, Jeff, please…I don't want to die, please, please..Oh my God, Jeff, they're inside, please…_

…_.Please acknowledge, Corbin….do NOT, repeat, do NOT approach Detroit… Fort Valiant lost….evacuation transport destroyed…extraction is no longer an option…Keep heading north…..your best bet is the Commonwealth…escort your team to…._

He shook his head sharply as he felt his knees weaken and give out slightly. He quickly reached up with both hands and clasped the cabinet swivel doors. _I failed them_. _I loved them and I failed them_. He started breathing deeply, and after a slow steady count of ten his knees regained their strength. He looked into the cabinet.

He reached out with his hand and brushed off an imaginary speck of dust from the power armor helmet.

**Brentwood Plaza Atrium**

**February 19, 2277**

Mark Blackwell had the odd habit of scrunching his face into a childish grimace, the kind of expression a child would make as if to say "gross!" Mark himself had never explained the reason behind his habit probably because even he couldn't explain it, and everyone had eventually gotten used to it.

Mark had silently looked on as George, the loudest of the bunch, had kept on deriding Ozzy. George was probably the most irritating person he had ever come across, but Mark had never expressed what he actually thought of George; in fact, he had never let anyone know what he was thinking about them, and now as he scrunched his face, he sat forward slightly and took a deep breath. Jules caught his expression out of the corner of his eye and looked at Mark, who smiled as he looked at Ozzy. George looked at Mark and stopped in mid sentence. He knew when Mark was about to say something, and whenever Mark spoke, everyone listened.

"Ozzy" Mark said in a deep mellow voice. Jake Moon, who always thought Mark could be unnecessarily dramatic at times, pulled long and hard at his cigarette.

"Ozzy" Mark repeated, "You still got that flashlight I gave you a couple of months ago?"

George Kowalski starting giggling "Maybe Dusty turned in his ass and the flashlight for a shot of Psycho."

Mark's eyes moved to Kowalski who dropped silent mid-snicker. Ozzy looked up at Mark. The fire was crackling silently in the rusty barrel amid their little campfire in the atrium, and for a moment he could see Mark's eyes reflecting the fire perfectly. Ozzy looked away quickly and nodded.

"We set out at daybreak tomorrow, Ozzy; let's check out that sound you heard" Mark said.

Jules spoke up "Mark, I know where it's at. There's no reason for Ozzy to hitch along."

Mark looked at Jules and then at Ozzy, "Ozzy was the one who found the place, and if there's something to salvage I believe he deserves a first look at what turns up as well as a fair share" Mark said, all the while looking at Ozzy who didn't bother looking up.

"Just toss the bitch a couple of chems and he'll be in heaven" George started giggling uncontrollably.

It seemed the most smallest of gestures. Mark just casually tapped the butt of his assault rifle on the tiled floor of the atrium, but the sound was enough to shut George up once again.

No one else spoke. "Be ready at dawn, Ozzy" Mark said and looked at Jules who was frowning his disapproval but remained silent.

----To Be Continued


	2. Chapter 2

**Fallout 3: The New York Wasteland**

**Chapter 2**

**Brentwood Plaza**

**3rd floor Residential Quarters**

**February 19, 2277**

The plaza was silent, but outside the wind churned up the irradiated dusts as they rose into the midnight air like apparitions from a folktale. Most of the denizens of the plaza were asleep, but Jake Moon was a light sleeper. Lying in bed, with a lit cigarette in his mouth he was staring at the ceiling in his room. The cracked patterns were like an intricate work of art to him and he could practically sketch out the entire patchwork of the cracked ceiling blindfolded.

In another time and place, Jake Moon would have been a top-notch investigator and criminal profiler. Well built and stocky, he was shorter than average at 5 feet 3 inches. He had a sharp eye for details matched with an astute and analytical mind. Carl Trenton always kept saying that Jake had an internal Mentat dispenser in his brain somewhere. Jake hated chems but he occasionally would take a glass of Vodka or Scotch and was a chainsmoker. Jake was one of the few people close to Mark Blackwell. They had quickly formed a bond when they had first met, Jake was 10 at the time, and Mark was 13.

Jake was just 9 when the slavers had captured him and his uncle's family. He had never known his parents. His uncle and aunt had been sold off and taken to some place up north, whereas he and his uncle's daughter were taken to Paradise Falls in the Capital Wasteland. He never saw his uncle and aunt again. Clover was 4 years elder to him and where he was the quiet and shy type, Clover at 13 was loud and boisterous and most of all far more mature and aware of her own sexuality. She had quickly learned the secret of how to make sure she always had more than enough to eat and drink. Soon, she had become a favorite of the slaver elite.

Once, he tried talking her into escaping. She had stared at him wide eyed for a couple of seconds, then left. He was cleaning the floor of the Slaver Leader's quarters when Rake and Hatchet, the slaver guards, came in. Through the red haze, he saw his cousin standing in the corridor as the slavers beat him senseless. Mercifully, he had passed out.

Clover never spoke to him after that, not that he ever wished to speak to her either. He already had his escape planned.

The radscorpion poison gland had been the most elusive thing but the Dart gun had been worth the wait. He had started stowing food and supplies in one of the car wreckages in the compound over a month ago. One night, after finishing his chores, he sneaked past the slavers and retrieved his supplies and made his way to the entrance.

He had specifically waited for the night that Rake and Hatchet were on guard duty at the entrance. Fortunately for him, Rake and Hatchet had dozed off on guard duty. Over the past week, he had practiced aiming with the dart gun as much as his meager supply of darts had allowed him, and this was the day he would find out if he had practiced well.

He took careful aim and hit Rake who jerked awake from his sleep and immediately proceeded to roll into a curved ball of writhing agony. Hatchet, closer to him than Rake, woke up quickly and reached for his Chinese Assault Rifle. It seemed like time stood still as Jake aimed for Hatchet's weapon-bearing hand and then his right foot and then his left. It would have been amusing if the situation had not been so serious. Hatchet fell to the floor flip-flopping as if he could not decide which part of his body to hold to ease the pain.

Jake ran past the slaver's writhing bodies and kept on running and never looked back. He had roamed the wasteland for about 2 months, hitching rides with Merchant Caravans one of which had brought him as far as Allentown. He had stayed with the settlement at Allentown for a couple of months after which Corbin arrived. Corbin had noticed him dismantling a 10 mm gun and putting it together again. Corbin had introduced himself to the young boy. He had listened patiently to Jake's story and seeing how resourceful the boy could be, he had quickly taken him under his wing.

Now when he thought of it, it was just plain luck that he had survived in the wastes. He owed it all to Corbin. The old man had been a hurricane in his prime, and he was still a competent leader at his age. Jake knew the responsibility of Brentwood Plaza would soon fall on to Mark's shoulders. Jake also knew no one deserved it more than Mark.

Mark had worked tirelessly for the plaza. He had transformed the plaza's defenses from shoddy wire fences to the high car-wreckage walls, minigun-mounted sentry towers, and mined perimeter they were today. It was Jake and Mark who had finally made the old vertibird air-worthy again. The plaza's defenses had proven to hold against the assault of the most largest and determined group of raiders, the Reapers. Under Mark's supervision, they had scavenged and salvaged a huge area of downtown New York over the years. Mark had been Corbin's best student and it was but natural that the leadership was transferred to him.

Jake started thinking about their discussion in their plaza earlier in the night. He thought about Ozzy. It looked like the kid had indeed managed to stay clean. As always, Jules was always looking out for him. Jake thought about what Ozzy must have found. _Must be another subway with a couple of ghouls in it_ he thought.

As he started drifting to sleep, he recalled his final moments of escape from Paradise Falls. Hatchet would have been totally cured of the poison. _I only hit him in his limbs but Rake, well,_ he smiled as he thought _I don't think he must have ever been able to fuck little boys again._

**Allentown, Pennsylvania**

**February 19, 2277**

Tristan Hale stood outside his tent, his head low, his mind lost in thought. Before retiring the night before, he had instructed his men to be ready at first light, and now as the horizon lightened in the East, the temporary Talon camp was bustling with activity. Some of the men were ready, sitting around still burning fires, smoking cigarettes, and seeing that their commander was standing close by, whispering in low voices about their indulgences the night before. Others were still in a state of undress, hurrying to get their armor on, and yet some of them were having a quick breakfast.

Joe sat alone on the wreckage of a car bonnet eating a cooked squirrel. Over the course of the night, Joe had fallen in love. Hale had never shown interest in women, and the men had long stopped asking him if he wanted company for the night. As second-in-command, Joe had always had been given the honor of choosing any woman captive he wanted for the night, and the girl he chose last night, Clara, had finally managed to gain that special place in his heart.

Clara was young, just 19 years old, expressive brown eyes, with shapely pouting lips. He didn't have to force himself on her. She had given herself completely to him and after the third time they had made love, he had decided he would ask the commander to take her along with them. He had never asked his commander for anything personal before, and he was sure Hale would grant his request.

Joe swallowed his last mouthful of the roasted squirrel and drank some water from a plastic bottle as he made his way up to Hale. "Good morning, sir" he said to Hale. Tristan looked up, gave a quick smile, and nodded. He looked at Joe curiously. The young mercenary had a flush to his cheeks and a cheery demeanor this morning.

"Sir, one of the captives is saying there's an abandoned missile silo about 2 days' walk North. About 20-25 raiders. Might be worth looking into." Joe said with a bright smile.

Hale nodded once again still looking at Joe carefully. Hale knew Joe Gleason was a good fighter and a very competent strategist, but Joe was terrible at hiding his concerns and anxiety. He assumed correctly that Joe was trying his best to avoid their trip to Brentwood Plaza.

Hale jerked his head motioning Joe to follow him "Let's go talk to the ghoul" he said as he started walking towards the captives in the building ruins. Joe followed a bit peeved that he had not been allowed to continue.

The 2 Talon Company guards stood up from the couch as they saw Hale and Joe enter. The captives, 25 in number, had their hands tied in front. They were all kneeling on the floor. A couple had collapsed where they knelt during the night. There was only 1 ghoul among them. Hale nodded at Joe who signaled to the 2 guards who walked up to one of the ghouls and placing their hands beneath his armpits raised him and walked him over to Hale.

"Untie him" Hale ordered. The ghoul, dressed in a Brahmin-skin outfit, had a puffed up eye and swollen cheeks. As someone who had seen more than his share of ghouls, Hale could see that he was badly bruised and by the wincing he surmised that the ghoul had a few fractures on his body.

"How are you, sir?" Hale asked with a cordial smile. The ghoul grunted but did not reply. One of the guards brought up the butt of his hunting rifle and hit him on the shoulder. The ghoul went down on his knees with the blow. The guard was in the process of raising it again.

"That'll do" Hale said quietly. The guard backed off. Hale knelt down on one knee in front of the ghoul.

"Leave us alone" the ghoul rasped as he recovered from the blow, "take what you want and go."

"Sir, I apologize for my men's behavior. It was never our intention to attack your settlement. All we need is information. Then, we'll be on our way" he said in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Is that what you needed?" the ghoul managed to say sarcastically as he spat on the ground near Hale's boots.

Hale ignored the ghoul's tone. "Sir, believe me, we were just passing through. It was your men who fired first. We would have just traded for a few things and left peacefully" Hale said in a very earnest voice. "We mean you no harm. Tell us what we need to know and we'll be gone." The ghoul grunted again.

"Tell me about Brentwood Plaza" Hale asked. "Who's in charge? How many people? What type of defenses? What's the kind of armament they're using?"

The ghoul looked at Hale with his uninjured eye and started speaking in a resigned voice "Two hundred fifty-five people, a few children. They're well fortified. Huge wreckage walls. Four lookout towers. They have almost every type of weapon and lots of them." The ghoul paused for breath, then continued "They have one of those flying machines, a vertibird. It was pretty banged up before, but they say they've got it working again."

"Who's in charge?" Hale asked.

"Guy called Mark Blackwell usually runs the place, but he actually takes orders from an old guy named Jeffrey Corbin" the ghoul said.

No sooner had the ghoul finished speaking, Hale silently rose to his feet. He motioned for Joe to follow him as he started walking outside. As soon as they saw Hale and Joe approach, the men who were all ready to march, rose to their feet from their various lying and sitting positions. Hale stopped suddenly in mid stride and turned to Joe "Did the sentries see anyone approach at night?"

"No sir", Joe stated as he looked at the commander. He had known Hale for a long time and he could see that the commander was excited about something.

"We need to make sure no one at the plaza knows we're coming" Hale said looking at Joe. "You know what do, Joe; make it quick, we move out at once."

"Sir, about the captives…." Joe started.

Hale cut him short "Kill them all."

Joe's face fell, "Sir, there's this girl, I wonder if we could…."

"All of them!" Hale said forcefully and walked off, ending their discussion. He didn't get a chance to see the look of anguish on Joe's face.

**New York City Ruins**

**One mile South East of Brentwood Plaza**

**February 20, 2277**

The last wisps of the morning mist were starting to disappear as the slanting rays of the morning sun fell on the ruins of the once great city. The group of 6 men made their way through the ruins. Mark Blackwell, Jules Smith, and Chad Stewart had taken point. Their assault rifles in their hands, fingers at the trigger. Ozzy was following close behind Mark. Mark had asked him to stay back with Jake and the others, but Ozzy hated being around George Kowalski and he was trying his best to put as much distance between himself and George, who at the moment was being his usual obnoxious self.

"Oh man, I tell ya, I almost saw that Patricia babe in the nude. She's got boobs to die for, man. What I'd give to squeeze those melons, and that other chick Anna whatzername, y'know? the one who runs the Mariner bar with her old man, woo hoo!, now that's what I call an ass. Y'know, I told her once, I said 'Babe, you wanna real man, look no further, George is all that an' more', but the bitch was so uptight with her panties up her pussy, she fuckin' walked off, y'know, just like that and lemme tell you about that Rhonda lady, she….." George kept on rambling, oblivious to the fact that no one was actually listening.

Jake Moon and Carl Trenton looked at each other and knew it was going to be a long walk to wherever Jules and Ozzy were taking them.

"Why the fuck do you put up with that asshole?" Jules asked Mark as the George's ranting showed no signs of slowing down. Mark shrugged and said "He's pretty useful sometimes." Jules nodded, "yeah, but the rest of the time, he's just a freakin pain in the ass."

They passed an old movie theater. _Casablanca_ was still running. A poster with what might have been Humphrey Bogart smoking a cigarette fluttered by in the cool morning breeze. With the skies a clear blue, the golden rays of the sun bathing them in a sea of light, Carl Trenton was thinking that had it not been for George's constant chatter, this would have been the perfect morning walk.

"…so I tell her "You're such a hot lady an' all, whaddaya need to wear that stupid dress." I mean, if a lady's got these legs that go on forever, she could at least wear something that shows em…."

Not able to take it anymore, Carl put a hand on George's shoulder, "George, why don't you let it out, it must be getting so uncomfortable for the little creature?"

"Wha..? let what out? what the fuck are you saying, man?" George said with a perplexed look on his face.

Carl said in all seriousness "The bloatfly up your ass, the poor bastard must be feeling claustrophobic, you know."

George's face turned red as he opened his mouth to speak but could find no suitable retort. Jake was the first to burst out laughing. Carl and Alex followed suit. With his back turned to them, it was hard to say if Ozzy was laughing but the gentle vibration of the shoulders surely indicated that he was.

Mark stopped suddenly and said to Jules, "You hear that?" Jules stopped in his tracks, his trademark frown making deep grooves on his dark-skinned forehead. He tried hard but heard nothing. He spoke out loudly, "Hey you back there, shut the fuck up!" The laughing at the back ceased as all of them stopped where they stood, weapons out looking around them. They all stood silent, the echoes of their laughter still seemed to rebound from the buildings. Jules whispered to Mark "What did it sound like?"

The three Albino radscorpions rushed at them with frightening speed. Mark was the first to open fire. A short burst from his assault rifle caught the right claw of the lead radscorpion. Jules Smith and Carl Trenton opened up with their submachine guns simultaneously hitting the radscorpion on the right. Alex Stewart had been firing at the lead scorpion which did not lose any of its momentum as its stinger lodged into his chest. Alex's impaled body jerked spasmodically a couple of times before going limp. The scorpion flicked its tail and sent the body flying.

Mark gave a shout "Take the high ground!" The group steadily moved on to a mound of concrete all the while firing at the scorpions.

Jake Moon aimed for the stinger of the left radscorpion which was about to lunge forward onto George. The hunting rifle found its mark as the stinger broke off and the mutated arachnid flipped over and went motionless.

The short-range steady fire of Kowalski's assault rifle finally managed to cripple the torso of the radscorpion on the right. Jules Smith's submachine gun easily dealt the killing blow.

All of them then turned their muzzles to the lead radscorpion which soon exploded into a light yellow gel.

The sudden silence was deafening. They stood frozen at their places. Chad screamed "No!" as he ran to his brother's body.

"So that what you heard?" Jules asked Mark. Mark wordlessly walked up to Chad and tried to console him.

Carl and Jake looked at each other and then at Chad's stooped sobbing figure. It was hard to believe that just a minute ago, they had all been laughing and sharing a joke with Alex. "Where the fuck did they come from?" Carl asked Jake. "I thought these pale scorpions were only found further down south."

"Fuckin' wasteland's turning out to be a cramped place" Jules declared as he followed Mark to Chad.

Jake walked up to Ozzy who was squatting down on the ground, his whole body trembling. Jake could see he was on the verge of crying. They hadn't even given him a nailboard with which to protect himself. It was a miracle he had made it out alive.

"You okay, man?" Jake asked him. Ozzy nodded furiously.

Mark and Jules were walking up to them. Chad was walking away back to Brentwood Plaza.

"We've sent Chad to go get help for carrying Alex's body" Mark said to all of them. "We're going to continue on without him. He turned to Ozzy. "How're you feeling?" he asked Ozzy.

"I'm okay" Ozzy stammered out. Jules said to Mark "It ain't far from here, another couple of hundred meters or so."

Mark reached back into his back holster and brought up a 10 mm pistol. "You know how to use this?"

Ozzy nodded.

"Let's hope this trip is worth it" Mark said as he looked at Alex's lifeless body.


End file.
